


The Ballad of Jean-luc and Raffi

by Spinifex



Series: Short stories from the Void [3]
Category: Star Trek: Picard
Genre: Alcoholism, Alternate History, Angst, Character Study, Gen, Podfic Available, Podfic Length: 0-10 Minutes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:35:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25200223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spinifex/pseuds/Spinifex
Summary: What if Jean-Luc Picard knew that Raffi was an alcoholic when he visited her the first time?  A tale of two friends.
Relationships: Raffi Musiker & Jean-Luc Picard
Series: Short stories from the Void [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1796425
Comments: 6
Kudos: 10





	The Ballad of Jean-luc and Raffi

## The Ballad of Jean-Luc and Raffi 

[CLICK HERE TO ACCESS THE PODFIC FOR THIS STORY](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1_A8OEkE12yHfGh4YTdGspz3iIIej8vyq/view?usp=sharing)

**The Crocodile**

There was an old man who dabbled in promises. He once brought a woman a fine bottle of wine. The woman had slid down a canyon of rages and darkness. The songs of old ghosts were a torment: the smoke of her pipe and stiff drinks were her friends. 

When he came to her house in the heat of the desert, she told him to leave and to never come back. But the old man was wily, and he also was truthless. He dangled the wine like a present: inside its string bag.

“It’s your favourite…” he offered, and he knew  _ why _ he was offering... 

The woman’s mouth watered. The wails of the ghosts calmed into sobbing. Life was more bearable with a bottle in hand.

The woman lowered the rifle that she was holding. Then she nodded stiffly at the old man.  “Is that the eighty-six?” she said, her parched voice neatly cracking. 

The old man turned, and smiled. Like a crocodile, with an angel’s halo for a crown.  “Indeed,” he said.

The woman reached out for the bottle with the arms of a puppet. The cool glass on her fingers was a promise of bliss.-

-The old man drew back the prize and cradled the wine like a babe to his chest; the woman clutched at the air like she was holding a rope. 

“I need you to help me,” he said, and the woman’s eyes stroked the bottle like it was a long-lost friend. The old man smiled again.  “Just one last favour, and all this will be yours. I promise that you won’t regret it,” he said.

The woman watched him turn the bottle in his hands, considering.  The ghosts of old hurts clamoured. Their recollections were wire-wrapped and crumbling.

_ There was a time… _ the old ghosts remembered... _ when we were family. We could have changed history.- _

The woman’s gaze faltered, and the old ghosts cried louder. She honed in on the promise in the old man’s hands... 

“Please listen, Raffi,” said the old man.

_ -Who are you?  _ the old ghosts said.

...And then she looked back at him, when the old man's arms shifted. The wine bottle winked in the sun.

“Name it. Name anything,” she said. The old ghosts shuddered and backed away. 

The old man recited his requests like they were pulled from a shopping list:  “I need a ship, and a pilot, and a crew,” he said...and  just in case it might mean something , he added, “and I also need your trust.”

Although the ghosts were farther back now, they still reached out to the woman with red-raw hands. 

_ When I needed your friendship, you were absent, _ they chided.

- _ Where were you? _ the old ghosts said.

The old man saw that he was losing her attention. He reached out and eased the bottle into the woman’s cold hands.  “Will you do it, Raffi?,” he said, “for your old friend?”

The woman looked down at the bottle and her sad eyes glazed over. All of her worries corroded like rust. The prize in her hands promised relief and oblivion. Just one taste from the bottle would be enough.  “Alright, J.L. I’ll do it,” she said.

The ghosts had vanished, so they said nothing. The old man clasped the woman’s shoulder like a comrade and nodded once in triumph.  “Thank you Raffi, I knew I could count on you,” he said, and ambled away.

*

The woman stood alone in the desert surrounded by nothing. Sweat ran a tear-track through the dust on her face. The bottle was an anchor that would make the hurt better. Its cap crackled open and she raised its mouth to her head.

**_Oblivion_ ** , it whispered. And the wine filled the spaces that the old ghosts had left. 

*

In that space in her heart where Jean-Luc should have been; his old friend cradled a bottle and wept.


End file.
